


the Nile’s not just a river in Egypt...

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [21]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Not Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018) Compliant, Pining, Post-Operation Pitfall (Pacific Rim), newt is so oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17913596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: All evidence points towards one solution. Newt, of course, ignores the evidence





	the Nile’s not just a river in Egypt...

**Author's Note:**

> for the anon prompt: “Wold you please write this fake date one you did a really big grand gesture only to get rejected on the spot and it goes viral, so I offer to pretend to date you (starting with my own grand gesture) so people will think you got a happy ending instead of pitying you”

“No.”

The word echoes in his mind, the weight of it settling heavily in his gut, combined with the sudden silence, leaves him reeling. “I—what?” Newt croaks, stunned.

Byron shakes his head. “No, Newt. I’m not interested in you. You’re not a bad person, you just…” he pauses. “You’re too manic and hyper. It would never work.” He shoots Newt an apologetic smile, turns to leave. Newt can feel the eyes of everyone around’s gazes on him.

“…oh,” he says, quietly, dropping his head. The box of fine chocolates sits on the café table, the bright red bow listing sadly to the side from where Newt attempted to tie it in the middle. Sadly, he picks it up, shoves it into his bag. The papers within crinkle as the weight of the box crushes them, but Newt can’t bring himself to care.

* * *

When he gets back to the flat, Hermann’s sitting in the leather arm-chair, filling out a cross-word puzzle, a cup of tea balanced on the arm. When Newt enters, he glances up. “Newton,” he greets, before frowning at his lack of reply. “Is everything alright?”

“Mhm,” Newt says, listlessly, “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Hermann sets the paper down. “Newton, what’s wrong?”

Newt sighs, shoulders falling. “I just…I didn’t have a great day, dude, alright?” he says, miserably. “Just—just leave it, okay?”

Hermann’s lips thin into a straight line. “Come here,” he commands, rising from his seat. Newt sets down his bag and, after a moment of dithering, complies. Hermann wraps his arms around Newt, the cold of his fingers seeping through Newt’s shirt, comforting and grounding, and Newt presses his face into the soft knit of his sweater-vest. “Better?” Hermann asks, softly, and Newt nods. “Good. I’ll make you a cup of hot cocoa, and then you can go to bed. It’ll all be fine.”

Except the next morning, when he turns on his phone, there’s fifteen text messages, and one link from Mako that says “Newt, you have to see this”. An ominousness creeps up his spine, and, with a hesitance usually reserved for experiments that might explode acid all over the lab, he taps the link.

It’s a youtube video, shot from a shaky hand-held device, but the camera focuses on two figures at a table, a box with a distinctive red bow between them. _Oh, shit_ , Newt thinks, fears confirmed as the lens focuses on the shorter of the two. It’s Newt.

Byron rises, says, “No.” The camera zooms in on Newt’s slack face. Someone in the background whispers _oh my god, is that Professor Geiszler?_ He checks the video. _179, 394 views, 3, 446 comments._ Newt closes the tab, types, still in shock, _mako, what’s this?_

After a second, Mako’s reply pops up on the screen. _It’s all over twitter and tumblr. They’re tagging it “#MITreject”_

Newt’s chest tightens, the humiliation making his skin crawl. Against his better judgement, he opens the link again and checks the comments.

> _under_grad: omg it IS prof. g!!_
> 
> _j-k-wILdcard: wtf? thats awful! i kind of feel bad for him rn…_

The comments continue in a similar fashion, expressing various sentiments; pity, however, is clearly at the forefront of every comment. Eyes watering, Newt turns the phone off and shoves it under his pillow. He feels awful.

Hermann notices, because of course he does; it may be Saturday, but Newt never spends more than three hours in his room without making a single sound.

The bed dips as Hermann sits down. “What happened?” he asks, softly. Newt lets out a sad sigh, and, wordlessly, digs his phone out and hands it to him. Hermann bypasses the security with ease that should be alarming, but is somehow grounding in its reminder that they’ve been in each others’ minds.

“…oh,” he says. “Newton, I…”

“It’s alright,” Newt says, face hidden in the pillow. “I just…I need some time to process. And get used to the fact that my students are going to be pitying me for the rest of the year.” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “It was bound to happen at some—better sooner than later.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Hermann’s fingers are carding through his hair in a silent gesture of support. “I…” he pauses. “If it really bothers you that much that they… _pity_ you, then I can—well, if you’d like, I…”

Words fail him, but Newt has an inkling of what he’s trying to say—he _did_ spend the better part of a decade sharing a lab with him. “You—you would do that for me?” he asks, sniffling, and Hermann gives a tiny nod. 

“Of course.”

The plan goes off beautifully––Hermann invites Newt to the very same café, buys him an extravagant bouquet of flowers, and asks him out in front of everyone. The earnest eagerness leaves tears in Newt’s eyes and does funny things to his heart, especially when Hermann bestows him with a small, but genuine smile.

“Thank you,” Newt says to Hermann, quietly, afterwards. “I…” he doesn’t know what to say. Hermann gives him an understanding look.

“Let’s go home,” he suggests.

 _Home_. There’s something about the way he says the word, tender and awed and yet at the same casual, like it’s the only possible thing he could say. _Our home_ , Newt realizes, and it knocks the breath out of him for a moment. _When did it go from just_ home _to_ our home _?_ The fact of the matter is, Newt hasn’t a clue—the progression from _lab partners_ to  _cohabitation_ is dangerously blurred, as if it was less of a switch and more of a long, slippery slope, a natural progression.

 _Oh, no_ , Newt thinks, _I think I love him._

* * *

Afterwards, it becomes startlingly clear that Newt moved from _hate_ to _love_ a long, long time ago—hell, it wasn’t even hate in the first place; it was disappointment; disappointment at _himself_ for running his mouth off and driving Hermann away.

Additionally, it also becomes clear that all of these things Newt does—reading to Hermann when he has a nightmare, making his tea just how he likes it after a stressful day—are…domestic. Disgustingly so; they resemble, more and more as Newt thinks on it, an old married couple.

Oh, if only! Hermann, clearly, harbors nothing other than an exasperated fondness towards Newt; if he did have any romantic feelings for Newt, he the type to say it and get it out and over with, not dilly-dally about it.

So, Newt does what anyone in his situation would: he pines. 

It’s hard not to, given that every little thing Hermann does—the curl at the corner of his lips when Newt makes an especially snarky remark, the way his hair is adorably fluffed up in the morning after he showers—makes his heart-rate quicken and his cheeks heat.

He reflects that it was only a matter of time; he’s been stuck with Hermann for the better part of a decade, and, before then, almost five years spent writing back and forth—it was an inevitability, really; he falls hard and fast anyway, and combine that with more than a decade of orbiting around Hermann—well, it was bound to happen.

Only, to make matters worse, Hermann doesn’t stop at the grand gesture of _asking him out—_ no, he acts like Newt’s boyfriend in public. If it didn’t make Newt’s heart sing with joy, he thinks that the constant almost-kisses would kill him. Almost, because as much as he wants it to be real, it isn’t, and he’s not going to be a dick and take advantage of Hermann like that.

So, because he isn’t sure what to say— _Hermann, you don’t have to keep pretending you want me_ sounds pathetic—he resolves to say nothing. At least, until Hermann walks out of his bedroom one morning, and makes him way towards Newt.

Newt expects him to just grab the cup of tea Newt’s made him, sitting on the coffee-table next to Newt’s mug of coffee, but instead, Hermann picks up the cup, pats Newt’s shoulder, eyes still half-lidded, presses a chaste kiss to his cheek, and says, “Thank you,” before disappearing back into his room.

Newt remains frozen in his seat, uncertain of what’s just happened, the ghost of Hermann’s lips on his cheek.

Except then it happens again. And again. It’s driving Newt insane—what purpose could there be to it? They’re in private—there’s no one to pretend for. _Maybe_ , he thinks, _this is just Hermann practicing so that it’s convincing when we’re in public?_

Yes, that’s the only logical explanation.

The only logical explanation for the situation at hand, though it’s failing slightly, given that they’ve just gotten back from a nice dinner—Hermann insisted on paying, and Newt agrees, since he paid last time they went out—and Hermann’s pressed him against the wall, one hand hooked under his tie, the other at the base of his neck, kissing the living daylights out of him.

When they break apart, Newt lets out a soft whimper and swallows, trying to breathe properly. Hermann’s eyes track the movement, settling on his lips. Suddenly, the explanation makes no sense—actually, it’s pretty blown to pieces. Newt croaks, “So, this is probably a bad time to ask, but are we…dating?”

Hermann stares at him. “…yes?” he says, uncertainly. “I thought you knew that?”

Newt lets out a huff of laughter. “Funny story, that—I thought that you were. Pretending. Because of that thing…months ago…” he trails off, suddenly remembering the day after.

Hermann cooked them lasagne for dinner and they watched some new sci-fi movie, and Hermann had asked, “So, Newton, will you go on a date with me?”

Newt had, at the time, laughed it off, assuming Hermann was joking, but he’d said yes anyway, because—because—because _he wanted to date Hermann_.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Newt breathes. “That was for real?”

“Yes?” Hermann questions. “You…you didn’t know that?”

“No, I—I thought you were joking!” Newt exclaims. “I mean, _I_ wanted it to be real, but it seemed too good to be true, so I figured it wasn’t, but—but it was?”

Hermann lets his head fall to Newt’s shoulder, shaking slightly. “Yes, Newton, it was—it was very real,” he gasps through his laughter. “I cannot believe you managed to brush it off as—as an accident. Hell, I’ve been taking you out on dates for the past few months.”

Newt gapes, even though Hermann can’t see, and says, weakly, “…oh.”

“Quite,” Hermann agrees, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Now that that’s been cleared up, would you like to continue?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Newt says, emphatically, and drags a more-than-willing Hermann down for another kiss.


End file.
